Across Time
by Goku Girl
Summary: Yaoi. Vegeta discovers several Saiya-jin books that chronicle the lives of two very familiar people. Incomplete.
1. Book One: Chapter 1

If you're at all familiar with this fanfic, you know that I began it sometime last year and finished up to book three, but then decided to revise it. I know it's been almost forever, but I _am_ finished with book one. My zip drive committed suicide (in the middle of typing up an essay, no less) and I've been a little paranoid about it happening again. Since all my fanfics are on zip disk, it explains why I haven't been writing anything for almost four months.  
  
**Warnings:** Violence, profanity, lemon, accidental OOC (in Goku's case it's always on purpose).  
  
**Notes:** This _is_ a Dragon Ball fanfic despite the fact that it may not seem like one most of the time. It has six books (because I previously made the mistake of setting an exact number --;) and will take me a while to finish. Oh, and did you notice that I continuously forget that Saiya-jin have tails in the old version? I'm not used to writing them with that appendage still attached and I tossed it into the story a lot as an afterthought. If you've read it before, you might want to read it again. I've changed some important parts of the story and added a lot more.  
  
**Names:** I've gotten into the habit of writing everyone's names the Japanese way (except for Goku and Vegeta because they're in practically everything I write and it's hard to change). Just a little heads up to everyone.  
  
**Posting Note:** This is pre-beta'ed since I lost my editor. I've added or removed some things to this version and generally cleaned up my prose.  
  
**To The Reviewers (and future reviewers):** Thank you. I know that I don't say it very often (if ever) but I do appreciate all of your comments. You keep me motivated.  
  
**Summary:** Vegeta discovers several Saiya-jin books that chronicle the lives of two very familiar people.  
  
(I did have really special designations for scene changes and time period changes, but Fanfiction dot net is stripping everything so... If you see three periods (...) it means there's a scene change. If you see period, equal sign, period (.=.) it means there's a time period change.)

* * *

**Across Time**  
_Book One_

  
  
**Chapter 1** [Revision #1: 02/7/04, Revision #2: 08/06/04]  
  
The days had been calm and filled with idle pleasure after the defeat of Majin Buu. It was as if the other evil beings of the universe had caught wind of his demise and chose to stay away from Chikyuu-sei in self-preservation. This peaceful time was far from a hardship, however. At least, it was for _most_ people. Goku and Vegeta were really the only two affected by the idleness of life. They turned to each other for new challenges and activities that alleviated their boredom and, as a result, grew close.  
  
To a degree, they were best-friends. The two of them could spar all day without pause or sit for hours in silence watching the stars twinkle above. Words were never needed to express how they felt.  
  
It was no surprise to either of them that they eventually fell in love.  
  
Of course, this was beyond the understanding of majority of Goku's friends and family. They believed they still had good reason to hate the Saiya-jin prince who'd come to Chikyuu-sei to use their dragonballs for a selfish reason. Hatred clings like black tar long after the true reason fades from memory. It becomes habitual to hate and takes far too much energy to see things from another point of view. Goku eventually abandoned his crusade to change their minds about Vegeta and retreated to a nice home in Eastern Capital with his lover. They kept to themselves as much as possible, Goku fuming inwardly and Vegeta ignoring the problem's existence, until one day a peacemaker approached their abode to extend a humble apology -- and a very late housewarming gift.  
  
Goku embraced his eldest son and invited him in for tea.  
  
Now, eight years later, just about everyone had come around and realized that Vegeta wasn't as bad as they'd thought. He wasn't as good as Goku wanted them to believe -- that was something only the tall Saiya-jin was privileged enough to witness -- but neither was he the embodiment of evil.  
  
Vegeta was, to put it frankly, bored. Goku had gone grocery shopping forty-five minutes ago; he had bad memories when it came to places like that. He opted to stay home and was regretting the decision within ten minutes.  
  
The attic of their home had become, like the attics of many homes, a storage area for all manner of things. Even a portion of Gohan and Videl's junk had found its way over. There were boxes stacked as high as they would go in on corner, behind old dusty furniture that Vegeta swore he would someday restore to former glory, if only to have something to do. He went upstairs with the intention of maybe sorting some of their things into "keep" and "discard" piles and found himself instead remembering a time long passed.  
  
A cloud of gray dust rose upward as the box labeled "Touch this and die" was opened, causing Vegeta to sneeze several times in quick succession. It had been found shoved behind a box of Pan's old baby clothes. Upon seeing the warning written on a flap in black marker, he knew that he'd been the one to pack the box.  
  
How long had it been since he'd last viewed its contents? Ten years? Twenty? No, it had been twenty-four years, each of them filled with experiences that had forever changed him.  
  
The original reason for coming up to the attic escaping him, Vegeta hefted the box in his arms and headed back downstairs. Maybe it was time to deal with some of the skeletons in his closet.  
  
"Tadaima, 'geta," Goku called as he opened the front door. One arm was cradled around a paper bag while three more sat waiting on the porch. "I hope you didn't get _too_ bored here by yourself." He looked around and smiled. "Well, the house is still standing at any rate."  
  
A dust and grime covered being descended from upstairs as he transported the food to the kitchen. He set the box down on the glass-topped coffee table, inadvertently knocking the remote control as well as a few magazines to the floor. Hearing noise in the living room, Goku poked his head out to check and winced at sight of lazily floating dust mites.  
  
"I just cleaned that room yesterday!"  
  
Vegeta ran his arm across his eyes, effectively cutting a swathe through the grime coating his face, and smirked. "It's just dust, Kakarotto." He stared for one moment at the short lean-muscled Saiya-jin before shaking his head and returning to his previous task.  
  
"What took you so long?" he asked as he wandered into the other room with the pretense of getting a glass of water. He wanted to look at Goku and re-memorize the face and form of the man that had come to mean more to him than life itself. Vegeta loved every inch of him from the top of his unruly raven hair that felt like silk between his fingers to the bottoms of feet that were incredibly ticklish and often the target of playful assault. He allowed the love and affection to fill him until he thought he might burst. Goku put away the groceries while Vegeta leaned against the counter and stared covertly.  
  
He groaned with remembered irritation. "You should have seen the lines, Vegeta! They had a sale so big that there were three times as many people as there usually are." Goku put the last thing away and filled a glass of his own. "Next time I'm shopping at three a.m. So, what's in the box?"  
  
The faint ghost of a smile that touched his lips faded as he thought of the box's contents. "Things I saved from my past life." His words caused the glass to halt millimeters from Goku's mouth.  
  
"You've had it up there all this time?" he asked. "Can I see what's inside?"  
  
"I don't care." He shrugged with feigned nonchalance but his stomach was churning furiously. Setting his glass in the sink, Vegeta went back into the living room. "There are only remnants of a past I would rather forget in that box."  
  
Cradled within the cardboard was a familiar royal blue training suit that had more rips and tears than material. Goku held it in his hands for a moment before putting it aside, remembering when they first met. Beneath it were several books with leather covers, golden characters written neatly along their spines. He flipped through one of them carefully and saw handwritten words that he was unable to read on the pages inside. A blue blanket with an anchor-like embroidered symbol in one corner, a small metal doorplate with faded lettering, and a tiny silver mirror were what remained.  
  
Goku pulled Vegeta down to sit beside him on the soft cream-colored leather sofa. "I bet every single one of these has a story. I already know about the suit, but will you tell me about the others?"  
  
Suddenly, he had the desire to speak of his past. Vegeta had closely guarded it with everything he possessed, afraid to share lest he lose a part of himself in the process. It was easy to forget when he was the only one still alive who knew the truth.  
  
But he loved Goku and knew that opening up his past to him would better the other Saiya-jin's understanding of who he was and where he'd come from. A strange emotion love was. It softened his demeanor and loosened his tongue so that he sometimes babbled like an idiot, but he would not trade it for any material possession in the universe.  
  
He picked up the circular silver hand mirror that still shone with immaculate beauty, its narrow handle inlaid with an emerald about the size of marble. A fanciful twisting pattern that reminded Goku of grape vines covered the back. It was a delicate item, something more likely to belong to a wealthy noblewoman than a battle-hardened Saiya-jin warrior, yet it was in Vegeta's possession and Goku couldn't wait to hear the tale.  
  
It was slow in coming. He wanted to get the words right so that his mate could understand perfectly and see things as he saw them. "I was a teenager," Vegeta began uncertainly at first, his voice gaining surety as he went on. "Furiza had given the elite soldiers leave for a rare evening to go out and release pent-up emotions on a planet called Picar. If there was something he feared more than a Super Saiya-jin, it was mutiny."  


  
.=.  
  
Furiza, the Changeling who sought to dominate the universe, held considerable sway over the monarchical government of Picar and was allowed to visit whenever he wished. He took great pleasure in making surprise visits that shook the very foundation of their society.  
  
The giant disc-shaped ship rested gingerly in the white sand outside the capital city's limits. Majority of the planet was covered in vast desert that appeared lifeless at first glance but, after a deeper look, it was easy to see that it teemed with life. Picardians were desert-bred people and throve in the planet's unusually dry conditions. Visitors generally disliked everything about Picar -- including its playful and carefree inhabitants.  
  
A quarter-moon hung very large in the sky and bathed everything in a pale white glow.  
  
"Prince Vegeta, let us go with you," Nappa said while wiping the sweat that had slid down into his face from the collected puddle atop his bald head. Raditzu stood beside him, silent and indifferent. "This God-forsaken planet is full of people who'd hurt you."  
  
"If Vegeta still existed this scum wouldn't even dare to think about it." Vegeta's mind imagined a life in which he was thought of as a god. In ancient Saiya-jin culture, kings had been treated exactly as such. He spared a moment to curse the alien who'd stolen just about everything of value from him, from rudely taking a dream of domination that would never be.  
  
"At least let Raditzu stay with you."  
  
"No!" he snarled. Without another word, he stalked off toward where the numbers on the scouter over his right eye indicated life. It wasn't particularly strong life, but still life nonetheless.  
  
The streets were crafted of white stone that blended almost seamlessly with the color of the desert sand. The buildings were of the same color but there were small accents here and there that marked particular buildings and homes. If anyone were to try and invade, they would have a hard time finding visible signs of civilization. Vegeta's eyes stung and watered from a constantly drifting haze of grit stirred up by the wind and his throat felt sore from the grains lodged in it. It truly was a God-forsaken planet.  
  
Picardians were a strange bunch. They didn't share his mammalian status but were more of a humanoid lizard type -- like Furiza. Fortunately that was where similarity ended or he would not have been able to conduct business with any of them. Their scales -- which were all varying shades of beige -- covered the entirety of visible skin except their faces and the palms of their hands. They wore clothes like most other races: loose garments of smooth cloth that covered from neck to knee, cinched at the waist with sashes. On their feet were sandals held on by thin rope. He assumed that the soles of their feet were scaleless as well but didn't care enough about the subject to question one of them.  
  
Very few people lingered on the streets but those that did remain watched him with hostile eyes from shadowed doorways and beneath scrawny-looking trees. He walked on unafraid, daring someone to do or say something that he didn't like. The urge to fight was welling within him, filling his body to capacity until he felt as if it would spill over and force him into an uncontrollable frenzy. If there was anything he hated more than his lord, it was losing control of himself.  
  
There was a short building pressed on both sides by much taller establishments, half-hidden at the end of a long, narrow alley. Whenever he visited Picar he made sure to patronize the Ignaadar; it was the only place in the city that served good alcohol. The rest never seemed to grasp that fine liquor burned like Hell going down and could fell a good-sized warrior with just a few glasses.  
  
All conversation within the dimly-lit interior halted as the patrons sized up Vegeta. He completely dismissed them from his mind with one look and made his way over to the bar. "Firewhisky¹," he told the barkeep. "Make it quick and make it double."  
  
"You have no idea what you're getting yourself into," a woman on his left said. He spared her a glance then ignored her. "Off-planets can't handle a single let alone a double."  
  
Vegeta didn't respond for a moment. He turned the glass he'd recently received in his hand, watching the way the overhead lighting refracted through the burgundy-amber liquid. "What I do is my business," he finally said, turning slightly to regard her. The woman was willowy like most Picardians, tan scales covered the sides of her face, and her eyes were a light pink. The only evidence of her gender was the series of small ridges running down the center of her head to disappear into the collar of her robe. Her wide mouth parted in what seemed to be a smile. It was not returned.  
  
She frowned at him, eyes darkening to a rose color. "It was just a friendly warning. Go ahead and burn away all the lining in your stomach. I don't care." With a smirk he tossed back the glass and swallowed it all without pause. Her eyes widened in disbelief when he didn't fall from his stool and roll around on the sticky floor in agony.  
  
"Don't presume things about me," he said coldly as he set the empty glass down onto the bar. "It makes me angry."  
  
"I'm M'nora," she offered in apology. "What's your name?"  
  
"Prince Vegeta." He pulled his shoulders back and held his head high in a way befitting someone of royal status. "Of Planet Vegeta." She stared at him blankly, clearly unknowing that Vegeta even used to exist. He cursed Furiza with all the malevolence he could muster for denying him his birthright.  
  
M'nora wouldn't shut up even after he'd taken to tuning her out. He had to give her points for tenacity however, and soon she had him grudgingly contributing his own words. A few hours passed and, before he knew it, M'nora was excusing herself.  
  
"It's been... interesting," she smiled, "but I should be going. The next time you're on Picar look me up."  
  
"Why would I do that?" he asked but his voice lacked its usual distinctive chill. She knew as well as he that his words meant nothing.  
  
"See ya, Vegeta." M'nora briefly gripped his forearm before slipping out of the bar.  
  
He had just finished his most recent glass when he realized that she hadn't told him _how_ to look her up. Setting it down, he exited through the door just as a sharp scream filled the night. The voice was familiar -- though he figured that he would have run towards the sound regardless -- and was on the scene just as a moving shadow lowered itself over a struggling M'nora. Her robe was torn from one shoulder and her small fists beat relentlessly at her captor's back. In an instant Vegeta was there pulling the man away and cracking his head sharply against a nearby wall.  
  
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" he roared before he could stop himself. "Do you have nothing better to do than rape defenseless women?" With every word the man's head came into contact with the wall until blood ran freely down his face and he slumped in Vegeta's hands, unconscious. M'nora was there grasping Vegeta's hands and urging him to release her would-be rapist.  
  
"Let him go, Vegeta. He didn't do anything other than give me a good scare."  
  
"He would have!" If anything, his grip tightened.  
  
She shuddered at the thought and met his eyes. "If you do anything more then you'd be just as bad as he is."  
  
Against his better judgment, he finally opened his hands and allowed the abused form to tumble to the ground. With a glance, he assessed M'nora's well-being and deemed her well. "You should get home. Do you want an escort?"  
  
"It's okay. He caught me by surprise but I can handle the next one." Her cheeks colored slightly. "To be honest, I'm a little embarrassed that I was taken down so quickly."  
  
"Happens to us all," he muttered. "Look, I have to get back." '_Or I won't be able to hold myself back from killing the bastard any longer._' He started to leave the alley when M'nora's hand caught his arm again.  
  
Pink eyes shiny with unshed tears dissolved the sharp words on his tongue. "Thank you, Vegeta. I want you to have something to remember me by, just in case our paths never cross again." From the small pack at her waist she produced a small mirror whose surface reflected the light of the moon. "My grandmother gave this to me long ago with the instruction to pass it on to someone special." She pressed it into his palm and closed his fingers around it so that he had no choice but to accept it. "Whenever you think you've lost yourself, look into it and it will help you remember."  
  
"Good bye, Vegeta," she whispered. After placing a small kiss onto his cheek, M'nora was gone.  
  
.=.  
  


"This was my very first gift," Vegeta said, his eyes unfocused as he remembered. "I could never forget her."  
  
"Have you ever gone back?" Goku asked. He was very happy that at least one person had been kind to his love just because they'd wanted to be. A little kindness often went a long way.  
  
He sighed heavily. "After I found this stuff again I went up into space. Nothing is left of Picar except chunks of rock and clouds of dust. That seems to be the story of my life, Kakarotto. Missed chances; wasted lives."  
  
The response was immediate. "Iie, Vegeta. Don't think that way." He was worried that the memories would send the other Saiya-jin into one of his all-too-frequent brooding moods. As of late, the former prince was in one more often than not. "Tell me about the doorplate."  
  
"There isn't really anything to tell. It used to be on the door of the cabin Furiza gave me the day I turned sixteen. I had been sharing with Nappa and Raditzu, confined to a too-small space like animals in a cage." His face twisted into one of disgust. "They were both Neanderthals who stayed as far away from soap and water as they could get and never picked up their things. Saiya-jin may be bloodthirsty warriors, but we aren't uncivilized apes. At least, most of us aren't. I kept it because it was the first time I truly tasted freedom -- however limited it was."  
  
Goku opened his mouth but shut it when Vegeta glared at him. "I'm not going to ask," he said with a smile.  
  
"Kakarotto..." he warned.  
  
"Seriously! I'm not! Even though I really, really want to know."  
  
Vegeta saw his reputation as a hardened warrior going straight down the drain. He carefully schooled his face into one of impassiveness and said, "It was given to me as a child, Kakarotto. My baby blanket."  
  
"I knew it!" Goku crowed triumphantly.

* * *

¹ this came from Harry Potter. I was struggling to come up with something that sounded dangerous and it popped into my head. 


	2. Book One: Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** The rewrite of chapter two now has a lemon that I had to remove here. (Do you know how hard it is to edit that to a lime without completely changing everything?) See my profile page for the URL of my LiveJournal where you can read it in its entirety.  
  
**Chapter 2** [Revision #1: 02/15/04, Revision #2: 08/06/04, Revision #3: 08/08/04]  
  
The six books were the only remaining mystery. Their deep brown leather covers smelled pleasant and reminded him of the black leather motorcycle jacket he'd talked Vegeta into buying because it looked so good on him. They were stacked on the coffee table and Goku itched to know what was contained within their covers.  
  
"What are these about?" he asked, lifting the top one gently. It, like the others, was about eight inches in length, six inches in width, and an inch thick. Vegeta took it from him and read the spine to himself.  
  
"I haven't read any of them. These are, apparently, volumes of the _Minok_ or History. My father kept the complete set in his study and I wasn't allowed to look, let alone touch any of them. Six volumes must be all that remain."  
  
He set the book down and grabbed another midway in the stack. Opening it to the first page, he began to read silently to himself, a frown creasing his forehead between his brows. Goku stared at the neat handwriting inked onto the thin parchment and could not understand a word.  
  
"What does it say, Vegeta?"  
  
So he began to read aloud, satiating his mate's hunger for a lost people's forgotten words.  
  
.=.  
  
_The events contained herein were written during an age of great hardship for our people. Time was plentiful yet it was wrought with fear and uncertainty because no one knew when we would have to make our stand. Kilandreau and his Bondmate Senneth -- who are both from Crenix Capital -- brought much love and joy to our lives. They will always be remembered as true heroes and I pray that their memories forever live on in us all.  
  
This is their story. _

Allyn -- 6 Loc, 2 PI

  
  
A soft wind blew from the east, bringing with it the sweet smell of late blossoms and brief respite from the day's oppressive heat. A young man with short black hair and contemplative dark eyes could hear people complain about the temperature and humidity, asking God, themselves, whoever would listen, "Why is it so hot?" in a variety of different ways, most of which were peppered with profanity. He held his tongue as he passed them -- it would do no good to point out the obvious. They lived in a desert. No amount of "creature comforts" would ever change that.  
  
He wondered what possessed the forefathers to found Crenix Capital here. Had they seen something in the dry beige sand that he did not? Or had they simply been arrogant enough to believe that true mastery over the environment was possible? Whatever the reason, he resented his parents for taking up residence here and deciding to start a family.  
  
Sand stirred up by a rare breeze swirled in the air and he covered his mouth and nose with his lightweight summer cloak to guard against irritation. Dreau Manor was far back from the road and its constant traffic, half hidden behind the great girth of two leafy banyan trees. A crushed stone path ran up from the wrought iron fence surrounding the property, through a perfectly tended lawn, to end at the wide steps leading up to beautifully carved wooden doors. Vine-like ifa with its dainty white flowers climbed its way up the stone walls, clinging tenaciously like Lord and Lady Dreau's loyalty to their homeland on every available external surface. The house had been his only home and, recently, it had become his only prison.  
  
His mother, Alania, was a very thin woman with a timid bearing. Her glossy black hair was kept short and her expensive clothing always seemed to engulf her small frame. She sat primly on her favorite stone bench in the rear garden -- the one that always made him feel uncomfortable -- beneath the shade of an imported fenlir tree. Its broad, fan-like leaves were perfect for blocking the sun that always seemed to shine directly overhead.  
  
He sat beside her silent, still form. "Mother," he greeted politely. She smiled very slightly. "How are you this afternoon?"  
  
"Hot, but that's to be expected." Her thin lips pressed tightly together for a moment. "I worry about you, Kilandreau. You have yet to take a wife."  
  
Kilan's body stiffened automatically at the word. Almost from the day of this twenty-second birthday, both his mother and father had been urging him to find a woman to bind himself to for the remainder of his life. Relandreau seemed to think his son's sperm count was suddenly going to drop to zero upon turning twenty-three. He hated being pressured about marriage, and about children; they were actually reducing his chances of ever having one or both.  
  
"Mother," he said very softly. She knew that he was very close to screaming. Kilan's temper had a long fuse, but when allowed to burn down it was painful to watch him lose control. His father was the exact opposite; he nearly always seemed to be angry at the world for one reason or another.  
  
Alania's voice trembled as she repeated her husband's words. She was completely under Relandreau's control and knew it as well as her son did. "Your father and I only want the best for you, my son."  
  
His anger exploded in a raging tempest of pent-up emotion. " 'Only want the best for me'? Bullshit!" Kilan knew that his mother was only the messenger but couldn't find it in himself to stop. Alania flinched visibly at both his language and the emotion clearly displayed on his face. "This has nothing to do with me! Father can't stand the thought of his only heir not having a legitimate heir of his very own to perpetuate the family bloodline. I'm sick and tired of waiting for him to realize that I want nothing to do with women, Mother!"  
  
"Kilandreau!" she gasped. Her eyes quickly scanned the garden and the house. Luckily, there hadn't been anyone around to overhear.  
  
Clenching his fists to concentrate his emotion, Kilan turned away from her and stared into middle distance. "I'm not staying in this miserable house for much longer."  
  
"You don't mean that." Her voice was quiet with hesitant certainty as if she were trying to convince herself of her statement's truth. The fingers that twisted the hem of her skirt in agitation belied the apparent placidity.  
  
"Yes, I do." Kilan's eyes said what his mouth could not. '_I'm sorry, Mother._'  
  
...  
  
Against the wishes of his parents, Kilan had moved into the attic once he'd come of age. The entire floor had been modified into an apartment for a live-in servant and his own nanny had resided there. A few years after the maid married and moved her things to the newly-built cottage on the edge of the property, he claimed it for his own. It was far away from his parents' bedroom, and from any rooms that dinner guests might happen to wander into.  
  
His cloak was tossed onto a nearby chair and his boots tossed carelessly beside it. From the doorway onward, he left a trail of expensive, sweat-saturated clothing until he was clad in only his underwear before the tall bedroom mirror.  
  
The person staring back at him was on the short and slender side though his training sessions with Master Luhan had put a little more definition onto his lightly tanned body. His hair always fell over his eyes, successfully hiding their expression from the casual observer. He had gotten used to hiding behind it as a child to avoid a reprimanding slap from his father for having the audacity to show his impertinence. Kilan curled his tail around his narrow waist and studied it carefully. In proportion to his stature, it was a little longer than usual and that was sometimes considered a deformity. He snorted at the thought. As long as all of the assorted parts were in perfect working order, who the hell cared if his body wasn't perfectly formed? He happened to like long tails... especially if they were attached to a handsome member of the male gender.  
  
Kilan stared at himself for a moment more, deciding that he wanted to see something other than finery drape his body. Going to the antique armoire, he grabbed the plain trousers and rough brown tunic that hung in the back -- a commoner's clothing. He wanted to forget himself -- if only for a little while.  
  
He pretended to be someone else whenever his life threatened to overwhelm him completely (which was fairly often) and escaped into the city. There were only so many hiding places in the Manor. Relandreau often set him up on dates with the single daughters of friends and business associates, all of whom were dull and two-dimensional. The people of the Lower Commons were a far cry from the snobby socialites of the Courtyard. Not only were they better conversationalists, but, for the most part, they could care less about social status amongst themselves. In the slums everyone was in the same decaying boat. The pampered rich Saiya-jin on the hill often excluded the "new rich" and those "not quite rich enough".  
  
Pre-teenage children ran along the street lighting lamp posts with candles attached to long poles as the sun's light faded from the city. They belonged to the poor families who pulled them out of school so that they could bring more income into the household. Kilan followed behind one boy as if being led to his destination by a series of glowing fairies. He loved nighttime in Crenix. There was just something about darkness that brought a feeling of security and comfort -- quite the opposite of most people he knew. His walk down a wide, nameless street was paced slowly enough that he was able to enjoy the pleasant ambiance of a close-knit community.  
  
After a certain point, groups of teenagers and young adults joined him on his travels. As the street curved up ahead to change direction, a line of people stretched along the building on the corner. Kilan's brow knit as he considered the assemblage. Where did it begin?  
  
A tall boy who looked to be a few years younger than he passed by in clothing that was as indecent as it was unusual. His tight black shirt was without sleeves and came to just above his navel while his black short pants rode low on his hips and high on his thighs. Short black boots polished to a dull gleam encased his feet. Playful eyes flirtatiously captured his own curious ones as he passed, holding him prisoner until the teenager thought it fit to release him.  
  
"Excuse me," Kilan called out, hoping to catch him before he moved out of earshot. The boy turned, pushing an errant lock of thick black hair behind his ear as he did so. "What's going on?"  
  
His face, more beautiful than handsome, adopted a surprised expression. "You don't know? Really?" Kilan shook his head, fighting back the embarrassed blush that threatened to color his cheeks. "They're going clubbing."  
  
The term was unknown to him and he tried determinedly to mask his ignorance. He felt the teen's eyes on him as he studied the queue and felt that he wasn't condemning him, but, instead, offering him a chance to expand his knowledge.  
  
"A new club opened tonight," he explained. "It's the hottest thing down here since... since..." Shrugging, a grin spread across his face. "Whatever. You wanna scope it with me?" Again, his words drew a blank with the slightly older young man. Deciding that he'll figure it out soon enough, the teenager grabbed Kilan's hand tightly within his own and dragged him off down the sidewalk. "C'mon, let's go!"  
  
"But I don't even know your name!" he said in an overwhelmed tone.  
  
"It's Senneth, but my friends call me Sen. Your turn."  
  
The line was growing shorter and shorter as people were either turned away at the door or shown into the crowded club. Kilan looked down at his clothing and compared himself to the other people he saw. There was no mistaking it; he was sadly overdressed. "I'm Kilandreau," he finally said. "Do you think they'll let me in?"  
  
"Oh, they better or I'll definitely have something to say about it and they know not to upset me." For a moment, Sen's eyes hardened as he stared at the bouncer, but they regained their shiny gleam when he turned back to Kilan. "So, tell me about yourself."  
  
.=.  
  
Vegeta stretched like a cat, attempting to rid his body of its stiffness. The graceful motion caused Goku to focus all of his attention on him and imagine the various ways he could be making good use of his mate's flexibility. A particularly enticing image of Vegeta sprang into his mind. Without a word, Goku grabbed him by the waist, tossed him over his shoulder, and made tracks for the bedroom.  
  
"Hey!" Vegeta protested loudly. "What the hell have I told you about doing this?!" He was tossed unceremoniously onto the bed where the larger man proceeded to quickly strip him naked. He opened his mouth again and found it suddenly filled with Goku's questing tongue. For several long moments the two slippery organs engaged in a heated battle before Goku pulled back with a grin.  
  
"Did you say something?"  
  
"Me?" he asked, allowing his eyes to widen in "innocence". "I said nothing at all."  
  
"But I want you to speak..." Goku nibbled along his jaw to suck gently at his neck. "In fact, I want you to _scream_." He punctured his neck with sharp canines then licked the small wound to soothe it.  
  
Vegeta inhaled sharply and his eyes slid shut. "I refuse to debauch myself for a low-born baka." There was no verbal response. Goku's tongue slid leisurely down his chest to latch onto one hardened nipple. The small body beneath him stiffened, then shuddered. "Not good enough," Vegeta forced out from between clenched teeth. The tongue moved briefly to the opposite nipple before circling his navel and stopping short of its destination. Goku kneeled over the other Saiya-jin and waited.  
  
For one long moment the two simply watched each other with passion-filled eyes, Vegeta's body crying out for release and Goku's body yearning to cover that of his smaller mate's. Vegeta felt his resolve fade away the longer he lay there. "Please," he whispered.  
  
"Please, _what_?" He intended to play the game to its absolute fullest.  
  
"Please get on with it, bakayarou!"  
  
A smirk curved his lips and its unfamiliarity unnerved him slightly even as it excited him further. "I don't think so; not with that kind of language. You can just finish yourself off."  
  
As unbelievable as it seemed, Vegeta found himself close to begging. He wondered why he always initially resisted something that would be very pleasurable to the both of them. It was never that way when _he_ was seme. Then they threw away the games and came together like two desperate people awaiting the end of the world. Goku had always submitted readily to him and eagerly did whatever he asked.  
  
Different natures, different responses.  
  
Vegeta supposed that he would never completely become lost in the moment. He always held something back for himself, some little part of his identity that he was afraid to lose. Goku had once whispered to him, as they paused a moment to allow Vegeta's body to adjust, _"There is no 'you' and 'I' right now, Vegeta. There is only 'us'."_  
  
If only he felt the same.  
  
"KAKAROTTO!" he protested loudly. Then he realized that Goku was reaching into the bedside table for a familiar tube. He bit his lip and barely kept himself from squirming in anticipation.  
  
"I don't know why I let you do this to me," Vegeta said as calmly as he could under the circumstances.  
  
Goku grinned wickedly and moved. Beneath him, Vegeta groaned loudly at the combination of pleasure and pain, knowing that only Goku could drive him to the edge of insanity and back. "Oh," he panted. "_That's_ why."  
  
"Damn straight."  
  
Vegeta looked up at him, eyes glazed with passion. He was so close to the shining barrier, so close to passing through it to the golden land of nirvana on the other side, and his mate would not let him. "Kakarotto..." he moaned.  
  
Waiting wasn't easy on Goku but he knew from past experience that release was infinitely better if he did. His eyes were dark mirrors that reflected Vegeta's own excitement.  
  
"Vegeta!" Goku said breathlessly.  
  
Vegeta did not speak as he lay shuddering atop Goku's body or, rather, he did not speak with words. His hands caressed Goku's sides idly as he waited for his breathing and heartbeat to slow then reached up to cup his face.  
  
"Ai shiteru, koibito. Forever."  
  
...  
  
After breakfast, Goku and Vegeta returned to the couch and the book. Or, at least, Goku did. When Vegeta refused to bother himself with words that meant nothing anymore, his mate made a valid argument.  
  
"You owe me," he said with a grin. "Last night was great, wasn't it?"  
  
Vegeta thought back to the rapture their bodies produced as they moved together perfect symphony. Goku's face, slack with ecstasy and beautiful in its perfection, was at the forefront of his memory. He folded, but not quietly. "Every night's like that, Kakarotto. Are you suggesting that I owe you for every single time we've fucked?"  
  
"No, of course not," he responded. His eyes smiled at him. Vegeta grumbled to himself and grabbed the book. The Look. It always crumbled him completely.  
  
.=.  
  
The entrance was a heavy steel door. Having been painted the same color as the building, it was easily overlooked. Beside the door was a man with muscles that bulged everywhere on his body and whose hair was cropped so close his pale pink scalp peeked through in places. His flat black eyes swept over the young couple ahead of them. With an abrupt shake of his head, they were denied access.  
  
It was their turn. Sen was waved onward immediately but Kilan was halted by a large hand on his chest. The bouncer stared at him a moment before snorting in amusement.  
  
At first, Kilan was simply stunned. He couldn't believe that someone deemed him unworthy. Maybe his father's upbringing had made an impact after all. Then he glared at the man and growled, "What's your fucking problem? There's nothing wrong with me!"  
  
Sen was quick to step between them. "Let me handle this," he told his companion. Then he spun gracefully and cupped the bouncer's face between his hands. "I'll consider it a personal favor if you let him in," he said while gently stroking his face. "Please?"  
  
"Uh, sure," the man blushed. It looked strange on his wide, masculine face. "Go right ahead."  
  
"Really? Thank you."  
  
Kilan stepped quickly into the building before the gigantic mountain of a man changed his mind. He saw the teen give him a kiss on the cheek before joining him. His stomach knotted painfully as he watched and he realized that he was jealous. It was all he could do not to go back outside and land a blow to the bouncer's slightly crooked nose.  
  
The interior of the club was dark and hot. It smelled of far too many people crowded into too small a space, of sweat, and of the permeating scent of lust. While not necessarily a bad thing, it invaded Kilan's nose and moved through his body to settle heavily within his groin. Quite against his will, he was hot and throbbing in time to the rhythm of the drums.  
  
"I don't want us to get separated," Sen said loudly above the music and conversation. He grabbed his hand tightly and tugged him onto the dance floor. Scantily clad males and females gyrated around him, pressing in close and seriously invading his personal space. His partner seemed completely at ease; Kilan vowed silently to loosen up.  
  
He watched him move with fluid grace at first, his tail curving around his waist and lightly touching his thigh so that it wasn't accidentally stepped on. His own tail was wound tightly around his waist: a sign of his growing anxiety. Then he tried to copy him and thought that he must look horrible in comparison. Kilan winced and started to leave the floor.  
  
"You're too stiff," Sen mouthed to him. "Don't fight the music." He took his hands to sync their movement and the song's tempo slowed.  
  
Kilan thought that he would be released, but was instead pulled closer so that his cheek lay against Sen's chest. The teen's heart beat softly against his face and lulled him into a state of bliss he'd experienced few times before. Even the swelling in his pants went ignored even though he was sure that Sen could feel it.  
  
Slowly, they moved in a small circle to the flute music that had replaced the drumming. Sen's hands had shifted to his lower back and were teasingly close to his rear.  
  
The song ended far too quickly for his tastes, but he was relieved that he now had time to think. The pace at which the evening had progressed had astounded him. How had he let himself dance so closely with a boy he'd just met only a short time before? Strangely enough, he felt comfortable around him as if they'd known each other their entire lives.  
  
"Thirsty?" Sen asked, his mouth pressed close to his ear. "They've got some good stuff in here."  
  
"I am a little..." He looked up into the teen's face. "Nothing with alcohol, alright? I don't like losing control."  
  
"Whatever my fair one desires." A thrill went up Kilan's spine from those words.  
  
He ordered him something that was faintly blue and smelled of berries while he chose something stronger for himself. Sen was not one to take advantage of a date, especially when they seemed to be getting along so well. Few boys and men had excited him the way Kilandreau did and even fewer had made him feel so good to be around them. Something more was going on than simple attraction, something that frightened and excited him all at the same time.  
  
They lingered in the club for, perhaps, another hour before escaping out into the cool night air. Both were laughing (which was a rare thing for Kilan to do) and talking. Neither wanted the moment to end.  
  
"I have a confession to make," Kilan said with a touch of nervousness. "I don't really know anything about your world. I'm from-"  
  
"The Courtyard? I know."  
  
"Was it that obvious?" he asked in surprise.  
  
"Well... yeah. You talk better than most people down here, ya know? And you look kinda regal. Don't worry 'bout it, Ki. I doubt they cared much."  
  
With much reluctance, they parted ways; each wanting to see the other again, but seriously doubting that it would ever happen. They came from two different worlds, after all. Kilan watched Sen walk down the street, his tail hanging so low that he thought it must be brushing the ground. He very nearly called out to him but didn't know what he would say once he had his attention. Turning away from him, Kilan headed back to his home.  
  
And back to a life that was growing more complicated by the minute. 


	3. Book One: Chapter 3

**Chapter 3** [Revision #1: 02/18/04, Revision #2: 08/06/04]  
  
A ray of sunshine through his window awoke him rudely. Kilan rolled over onto his back and considered his options for wasting away the day.  
  
There was always the idea of visiting Sen. He had a burning desire to see the teenager again, one that closely bordered on obsession. He thought about the way he smiled, the way he smelled, the way his lean body felt against his own. Where did he live? How would he ever find him? Kilan imagined himself asking everyone he met on the street, _'Hi, I'm looking for a boy named Senneth. You see, we had so much fun together last night that I want to see him again... preferably naked. Can you tell me where he lives?'_ He groaned loudly and rolled out of bed.  
  
After dressing in his favorite crimson tunic and tight black pants, he went downstairs for breakfast. His parents were already seated at the polished wooden dining table sipping hot tea. Alania smiled in greeting from one end of the table, but Relandreau only looked at him with glaring eyes from the other.  
  
"Good morning, sweetheart," his mother said. "Did you have a nice rest?"  
  
He thought of the dream he had about Senneth and suppressed a smile. "Yes. It was... pleasant." A moment after he took his customary seat between his parents, the maid, Kria, brought out a tray of food. She smiled at him and then exited discretely.  
  
His father wasted no time. "You're taking far too long to find a mate, Kilandreau."  
  
Kilan allowed his fork to clatter onto his plate in disgust. "Father, is it too much to ask for you to, at least, wait until I've had breakfast before you start in on me? Not that what I do is any of your business."  
  
The tea cup Relandreau held in his hand began to tremor minutely as his face darkened in color. "If it wasn't for my sperm, you wouldn't even exist!"  
  
"I'm an adult now and more than capable of making my own decisions. How many times must we have this argument before you realize that I don't find women sexually attractive?" The moment the words escaped his mouth, he wished that he could take them back. It was true that they'd argued many times about the subject of marriage, but never before had he openly admitted to being gay. Kilan's eyes dropped to his plate and waited for the imminent explosion.  
  
"What did you just say?" his father asked calmly. It caused his son to look up quickly, only to look away again when he saw how his father's face was completely devoid of emotion. When such a thing happened, it was safe to say that it was time to duck and cover.  
  
But he had come too far to back down now. "I'm gay, Father. If I ever married, it would be to a man." Distantly, he heard his mother gasp in horror (more so at the inevitable eruption than at his admission) and imagined her small hands flying to her mouth. Kilan didn't take his eyes away from Relandreau once he realized that things had never been so terrible in his home.  
  
"If you won't choose a good woman to marry, Kilandreau, then I'll do it for you." He pulled his napkin up from his lap and tossed it down onto his plate. "Come along, Alania." She quickly trotted after her husband, but not before one last look at her son.  
  
He tried to figure out what had just happened. Was Relandreau acknowledging his sexuality, but ignoring it in favor of what was "best for the family"? Or had his admittance gone in one ear and promptly out the other? "Denial," Kilan said at length. "In his little world, he has a perfectly straight son who's more than willing to produce a lot of perfectly straight sons of his own."  
  
"Just a little while longer," he sighed. "I'll deal with his for just a little while longer."

...  
  
He remembered how things were when he was a very young child. It was before his father had been killed ruthlessly by their own government, before his home life had fallen into shambles. His older sister Azael had been ten and was a sweet child who always been more than willing to spend time with her five-year-old brother. It had been a happy time full of pleasant memories that served him well when, four years later, his mother experienced grief so great that she never recovered. She just faded away one cold winter morning, leaving behind only a husk for her daughter to find when she entered her bedroom to inquire about breakfast.  
  
Azael had taken custody of him even though she had still been just a child herself. She worked ceaselessly to keep their small home, to put food on the table and clothes on their backs. While having dropped out of school to work full time, she ingrained within her brother the importance of an education. Azael was his hero... until she began to take pills to relieve her stress.  
  
At first, it was nothing more than something to relax her after spending ten hours doing who-knew-what but, eventually, this use became more compulsive in nature. The very first thing she would ingest would be those pills, even before eating breakfast. On the rare days she took off, Sen would watch her slip a few into her mouth when she thought he wasn't paying attention. Soon, her usually good mood was soured by mid-afternoon and she snapped at her younger brother for inconsequential reasons. He took to tiptoeing around her in the fear that she would approach him with physical violence that he wouldn't be able to defend against. One day, he just couldn't take it anymore. Sen confronted his sister about her problem, to which she replied, "What problem?"  
  
That was when he'd given up on her completely.  
  
Now, their relationship was almost non-existent. He lived with her to avoid living on the streets and put up with her short temper and the endless parade of men through their house without comment. Even though he told himself that he didn't care about her anymore, Sen loved his sister just as much now as he had when they were younger and felt a little responsible for her miserable situation. If there was a way to way to fix everything magically so that none of this had every happened, he would have searched for it until the day he died.  
  
He rolled over onto his stomach and pulled the thin blanket over his head. There was no way in Hell he was getting up so early this morning. Nothing was out there for him save his pissed off sister and a few enterprising drug dealers. Their neighborhood was notoriously known for being one of the worst in the entire Commons, something that had only happened within the last three years. None of the decent people could afford to move and the not-so-decent were pleased to have a personal playground.  
  
'_I could go see him,_' he thought suddenly. '_I could put on my best clothes and try to blend in with the snobs._' Then the futility of the plan hit him. "I don't even know what side of the Courtyard he lives on!" he moaned out loud.  
  
Eventually, he fell into a light slumber for a few more hours. When Sen awoke again it was early afternoon and the noise outside was too loud to ignore. The shouts and calls of children playing blended with the general rowdiness of the Ucliss Street Gang until it all resembled a jumbled mess of sound that pounded at his ears until he could take no more. All traces of sleep gone, Sen made a decision: he would go see his friend Thad and help out the store until the sun set on yet another wasted day.  


  
...  
  
His father's words haunted him for hours.  
  
After breakfast, Kilan headed off to Master Luhan's home for his daily martial arts training. The much older man was like a father to him and had been ever since he was seven. Relandreau had never spent time with him doing the things that other fathers and sons did together. They'd never played games or had long talks or went on bonding trips. In fact, it even seemed that Relandreau had gone out of his way to _avoid_ doing those things with him. '_That was what convinced Father to allow me to take fighting lessons,_' Kilan thought, '_the fact that I'd be out of his hair for majority of the day._' What used to cause him to question his self-worth, now only served as additional proof of Relandreau's inadequacy as a member of the Saiya-jin race.  
  
On his way home later that afternoon, he passed by the most prestigious bank in town on the long route instead of taking his usual shorter one. Kilan was in no hurry to return to Dreau Manor and he hoped to see Sen even though such an occurrence was unlikely. Several posters hung on the beige stone wall, ranging from hand-lettered declarations of anarchy to professionally printed advertisements for goods and services. One poster in particular caught Kilan's passing attention.  
  
"Do you desire this man?" it said in large, bold print. Right below the words was a very good artistic rendering of himself.  
  
"What the hell?" he gasped. He moved closer and peered at the text below his smiling (as if he did that often!) face. There the address of Dreau Manor was listed for all to see.  
  
Quickly regaining his wits, Kilan ripped the poster down from its place and crumpled it into a ball. How many people had seen it before he came along? His head jerked up and he slowly scanned the street. How many of these damn things were up around the city?  
  
He suspected that, by the end of the day, the word would have spread like wildfire. Women from all over Crenix -- and maybe even a few brave men -- would be knocking on his front door, begging entrance. He could only hope that his mother could talk sense into his father before it was too late.  
  
Home was the last place he wanted to be, but he knew that he couldn't stay away forever. Gritting his teeth, Kilan steeled himself for the hardship that was to come.  
  
...  
  


Sen hummed to himself as he swept the sidewalk outside Thad's store. It was boring work, but it helped his best friend so he didn't mind very much. Today he was dressed conservatively in a short-sleeved dark blue tunic and long pants, but both fit closely on his long body because he thought it was interesting to see the reactions of people on the street. His clubbing outfits did come out of the drawer during daylight hours occasionally, but only when the temperature had soared so high it would be suicide to be covered by too much cloth.  
  
Thad's father -- who was also named Thad -- managed a general store that he'd inherited from his own father. Thad was the only one of Sen's friends who had a real chance to make something of himself -- even if it was only from inheriting his father's store upon his death.  
  
Sen, on the other hand, knew that he was never going to get anywhere in life. Like so many other Commons-born children, he was going to be stuck in the slums forever. He could claim no skills or talents (other than the art of seducing men) and knew that he had a habit of getting himself into trouble. In fact, Azael told him all the time that he was probably going to get himself killed one day and, when it happened, she wouldn't bother having a funeral for him. Then again, she _had_ been drinking at the time so her credibility was seriously lacking.  
  
Thad exited the store and leaned against the wall. He held a small piece of paper in his hand and was nodding to himself in an absent way.  
  
"What's that?" Sen asked him. The large teenager with the gentle black eyes offered him the flyer. What he saw made him stop breathing for a moment.  
  
"He's hot, ain't he?" Thad said while playfully elbowing his friend in the side. "Just your type." The words were said with just a little jealousy. While not bad looking, Thad knew that he could never compete with a guy like the one printed on the flyer.  
  
"He's Ki!" was the startled, breathless reply. Sen staggered and caught himself against the smooth stone of the wall. He stared blankly at the portrait in shock. His friend laid a concerned hand on his shoulder.  
  
"You know him?"  
  
"I danced with him yesterday at the club. We had so much fun together and he felt so nice in my arms." His cheeks flushed with remembered pleasure. "I think I've fallen in love, Thad."  
  
"Okay," Thad said vacantly. Before Sen could get offended at his inattentiveness, the other teen's wide face lit up. "Okay! I have a plan!"  
  
Sen's stomach sank. "Excuse me if I show my understandable dislike for those words."  
  
"Oh, come on! My plans aren't that bad." His friend snorted. "Anyway, you like this guy, right?"  
  
"Uh, right."  
  
"And you want him as your mate?" The deep blush in response was all the answer he needed. "So, go tell him how you feel."  
  
He shook his head sadly. "He lives in the 'yard, Thad. Besides, I'm not a girl if you haven't realized it yet."  
  
"Really? The 'yard? Wow." He glared at the other boy briefly for distracting him and continued. "Dress like a girl and impress his folks, first. Then you'll have it made."  
  
"Do I _look_ like a girl to you?!"  
  
Thad didn't even have to think. "Yeah, you do, actually."  
  
"Fuck you!" But he wasn't really upset. He'd always known that he was more pretty than handsome and, for once, it could even work in his favor.  
  
...  
  


The number of people crowded outside the gates to Dreau Manor was ridiculous. Kilan observed them despondently from his window, seriously contemplating suicide so that he wouldn't have to put up with such a farce. Relandreau strode out to the gate with a swagger, honestly enjoying the spectacle he was making of his family. Kilan's eyes focused on his head and thought hard enough to make his brain explode -- if he'd possessed the power. The older man spent time speaking to the crowd and he watched as some of the people -- including a small crowd of men -- walk away sadly. Those that remained, he assumed, were either remarkably desperate or incredibly brave.  
  
"Boy!" he heard his father call from the bottom of the stairs mere minutes later. Kilan didn't move. If anything, he rooted himself to the spot even firmer. Irritated pounding on the stairs caused him to tense but nothing else. A rough hand on his shoulders, turning him away from the window, startled him. "When I call you, Kilandreau, I expect you to answer."  
  
His eyes were tired as he gazed at his father. "How many times do I have to tell you that I'm an adult until you understand? This plan of yours is bullshit, Father. I'm not merchandise you can give away as a prize."  
  
A small tick in Relandreau's right eye made itself known. Even more deadly a sign than utter calm, this tick signaling that a complete meltdown was close at hand. "You act as if your opinion really matters to be, boy. As your father and the head of this household, it is my duty to the maintain honor of this family."  
  
"You know what, _Father_?" He said this word as if spitting out something vile and disgusting. "I'm not taking this anymore. Fuck your moronic plan and fuck _you_!"  
  
The backhanded blow connected before he could dodge. Stars burst before his eyes and the world grew dark and tattered around the edges for one brief moment as the force of the slap caused him to stumble and knock his head against the windowsill. Kilan took a moment to calm his heartbeat and feel lucky to be both conscious and alive.  
  
"You are going to dress in your finest clothing and come downstairs to greet our guests. Then you will go about the process of choosing a wife."  
  
"Yes, Father," he said dully. It really wasn't worth the effort to argue anymore. Kilan closed his eyes and rested his cheek against cool wood. His father departed quickly for parts unknown and he hardly noticed. Slowly, his body curled into itself, his tail curving around to rest against his palms. He held it tightly against his chest for comfort and allowed the tears to fall.  
  
...  
  


Kilan stood in the entrance hall, greeting someone he had absolutely no interest in. The girl was petite with very lively eyes and cute features, but he only had eyes for Sen.  
  
Long ago, he'd wrapped his tail around his waist so that it didn't betray his true feelings to girls he didn't know. When no more girls came up to meet him, Kilan relaxed considerably.  
  
"Wait! Don't forget about me!" A girl shouted as she ran up the front path with a small backpack. On the way, she nearly tripped up the stairs in her haste and the other women stifled amused laughter. The girl, teetering slightly in her tall heeled boots, regained her balance. Bowing deeply before Kilan, she said, "I apologize for my lateness."  
  
"There really wasn't any timeline that I was aware off..." Color rose in her cheeks. "...but I accept your apology anyway. What's your name?"  
  
"Sen," she said without thinking. Then she quickly corrected herself. "-nie. Sennie. My name is Sennie!" The triumphant look on her face caused Kilan to raise an eyebrow.  
  
"Alright, Sennie," he said while writing her name down on the paper his father had "kindly" provided. His hand stilled before he finished as he considered the girl before him. There was just something about her and made him feel so _warm_.  
  
He watched the very tall girl in the tight red dress walk away, her hips swaying due to the unbalance caused by the shoes she wore. His eyes were riveted to her remarkably sexy rear and the gently waving tail above it. '_There's just something so familiar about her._'  
  
Seemingly endless question-and-answer sessions filled rest of the day. The first round consisted of the conduction of many, many interviews. Apparently, judging by the questions Relandreau had come up with, he only wanted a woman of the very best stock for his son.  
  
Kilan rubbed at his temples and willed his headache to go away with no such luck. The last girl, Girna, had been more than a little.... well, her fascination with the size of his "endowment" was more than a little disconcerting. He felt that the only good thing to come of the interviews was the elimination of most of the bride candidates. Sennie's tousled black-topped head poked around the door of his father's study.  
  
"Is it my turn now?"  
  
"Oh, sure. Have a seat." He sat up a little bit straighter and pondered the attraction he felt to this girl. Never before had any female caused him to seriously question his sexuality. Sennie sat in the only other chair in the room and crossed one long, slender leg over the other, tugging at the hem of her dress. A generous amount of thigh still displayed against her wishes, however. His eyes automatically focused on the movement and he found that it was quite hard to look away.  
  
"Hey," Sennie said, amusement lurking in her voice. "My face is a little farther north." His face reddened and his eyes focused resolutely on the region above her neck.  
  
"First-" He cleared the embarrassed squeak from his voice. "First question: why are you the best candidate?"  
  
"Well..." One long finger tapped against the side of her face. "I'm not like most girls. We would _really_ have fun together."  
  
He smiled and imagined the "fun". Then he realized what he was doing and cringed slightly. "Um, how many children are you comfortable with having?"  
  
Sennie blinked, then stared. "Come again?"  
  
"As my mate, you're expected to produce at least one child. It can be either male or female since I'm not particular about the gender of the heir."  
  
"Aw, damn," she muttered and the falsetto slipped. "Damn, damn, damn! Why the hell didn't I consider that question?!"  
  
A delighted smile spread across Kilan's face. "Sen!" Now he understood what his body was telling him! As a woman, Sen was even more beautiful. Whoever had done his make-up was a true expert.  
  
"My friend's plan backfired, didn't it? I told him it was stupid." Sen pulled the back of one hand across his burning eyes and smeared eye make-up that began to wash away as crystalline tears fell. "I felt something special last night and I think we'd be good together." He sniffled. "For the first time in my life, I regret being born male."  
  
Crying people made him uncomfortable. Kilan's hands hovered uncertainly in the air around Sen's hunched body. Finally, one hand descended to awkwardly pat him on the back. "Here," he said while offering his own handkerchief to him. "You shouldn't cry."  
  
"I know, I know; boys don't cry." He took deep gulps of air in an attempt to calm himself but the tears continued to fall. "My cute masculine charms won't work on you."  
  
"In a dress like that, I can see why not," Kilan said wryly. More serious, he said, "I was attracted the moment I saw you on the street."  
  
"Really?" was the hopeful query.  
  
"Yes, really. You are the most beautiful person I've ever met. Inside and out."  
  
In a burst of giddy pleasure, Sen threw his arms around Kilan's neck and almost choked him. "Ki, I love you!"  
  
"_What?!_" His eyelids slid to half-mast as the teen tenderly rubbed his cheek against his own.  
  
"I love you," he repeated at a volume hardly above a whisper. "You're the man I've been looking for my entire life."  
  
Kilan wasn't sure he knew what love felt like, but this was, at least, certainly something pretty damn close to it. He sighed pleasantly and listed to Sen purr in contentment like a giant feline as he perched on his lap.  
  
A knock startled them out of their peaceful universe. "Kilan, dear, is everything okay? None of the other interviews were this long."  
  
"We're fine, Mother," he called back. "Just wrapping up."  
  
There was nothing else he wanted more than to continue holding Sen in his arms. His skin smelled faintly of some sort of perfume used in his ruse and of a spicy muskiness that was uniquely Sen. His hand rested lightly on his thigh just at the edge of the red dress's hemline. The need to slide his hand upward to see what kind of underwear he wore beneath was almost overpowering.  
  
"Dresses have a lot of benefits," he murmured to himself.  
  
"What was that?" the teen asked sleepily.  
  
"Nothing," he smiled fondly. "Nothing at all." 


	4. Book One: Chapter 4

**Chapter 4** [Revision #1: 02/20/04, Revision #2: 08/06/04]  
  
When he finally turned in for the night there were ten extra people staying in his home. Kilan wondered how it would feel to go to sleep and never wake up. Would he drift on a sea of nothingness after his body gave its last breath or would he soar amongst the stars?  
  
As tempting as it sounded, he knew that he couldn't go anywhere without Sen. Any suicide attempts would have to be joint ventures.  
  
The regular dining room table just wasn't large enough; meals would have to be relocated to the table in the ballroom for the duration of his father's mad scheme. As Kilan entered freshly scrubbed and very gloomy, he saw the girls fighting each other for the two seats that were perpendicular to his own at the head of the table. Rolling his eyes, he sat down and propped his head up with his elbow in a bored manner.  
  
"Hello," said a young curvy woman with what she probably thought was a "come-hither" smile. Instead, she looked as if she were grimacing in pain. "I'm Maerie." Just as she was sitting down in a seat only mere inches from his own, a body pushed her aside so firmly that she almost fell over.  
  
"Oh, I'm sorry," Sen said in a saccharine tone. "Was this seat taken?"  
  
"You know very well that it was!" she growled.  
  
He pretended not to hear as he sat down. "Good morning, Ki! Did you sleep well?" Maerie glared at him one final time before stalking over to take the last empty seat. It was as far away from Kilan as you could get and still be in the same room.  
  
His lips twitched as he fought the urge to smile at him, but just he couldn't help it in the end. Today Sen was dressed in a sleeveless white shirt and black pants. He had more muscle in his arms than was usually appropriate for a female, but it didn't really matter since he truly wasn't one. As Kilan served himself some of the fragrant food, he whispered a question he'd been wondering about all night.  
  
"Where'd the breasts come from?" Granted, they weren't much but they were enough to be considered "womanly".  
  
"Oh." Sen looked down at himself. "This was my friend's cousin's idea. We stuffed one of her bras with parchment. It took forever to get them to look right yesterday."  
  
"Well, one's just a little..." Kilan reached out and made a little adjustment. "Much better."  
  
Sen's face colored and he tried to cover it up with humor. "I do believe, sir, that your hands are touching my boobs."  
  
Kilan leaned in closer with a intimate smile on his face and whispered, "I'd rather be touching you somewhere else." The teen now looked a little... bothered.  
  
"Excuse me, sir." A girl a few seats away on his other side got his attention. She had short hair and wore round glasses over shy eyes. The girl pushed up her spectacles with her index finger. "If you don't mind me asking, what's next on the agenda?"  
  
"That's a good question." He cleared his throat and raised his voice above the murmur of the girls. "May I have your attention please?" Ten pairs of eyes were now focused on his face and more than one held a lecherous expression. "After breakfast there will be a cooking competition. As well all know, there are few things more important than good food to a Saiya-jin." The girls laughed on cue, but Sen's face had paled and he was silently repeating something over and over again. It looked suspiciously like, "Fuck." An unusually negative reaction from the teenager. Kilan was momentarily startled. "Um, I'll taste-test and the creators of the first-, second-, and third-best dinner dishes will gain points. Good luck to you all."  
  
Kilan pushed back his chair and prepared to stand just as Sen caught his arm. "I might as well drop out now," he said. "My food isn't even fit to feed your worst enemy."  
  
"You can't cook at all?" he asked in a worried tone. Sen shook his head with a sigh. "I'll eat anything you prepare no matter what because it came from you."  
  
"I don't want to poison you, Ki. Maybe I can go and get help from Thad before dinner tonight."  
  
"Your friend?"  
  
He nodded. "My best friend of seven years. His family is like my own."  
  
Relandreau entered the room and spotted his son. "Kilandreau! It's time to leave." An irritated look appeared on Kilan's face.  
  
"He works for Lord Chero," the young man explained, "and he wants me to observe today."  
  
Sen was sympathetic. "I'm sorry," he said. Chero was a man of unquestionably bad taste and dubious honor. He blatantly favored the rich and did whatever he could to further screw over the poor. There had been many attempts to oust him from office, but none had even been slightly successful.  
  
"I'll see you tonight," Kilan said softly, wanting nothing more than to kiss him breathless, but knew that it would be bad to do so in front of others lest they think he showed favortism. With one last look of longing, he joined his father.

...  
  
Sen had no idea what to do. Never before had he been required to cook a good meal. Azael handled things at home when she was sober and, before her, it had been his mother. There was just no way he could make anything fit for Saiya-jin consumption on his own.  
  
He searched for the Lady of the House. She was in the foyer adjusting her straw hat with the wide band of lavender silk ribbon. Alania slipped on her gardening gloves and eyed herself one last time in the mirror. Though majority of the yard work was done by a hired hand, she refused to let anyone touch her prize-winning passion lilies.  
  
"Excuse me," Sen said very politely. She noticed him over her shoulder in the mirror and smiled.  
  
"Did you need something, dear?"  
  
"May I please leave the Manor, ma'am? Just for a little while?" He thought quickly when her open expression changed to one of regret. "My sister is ill and I wish to check on her. The doctor is afraid that she will expire soon." A few tears were squeezed out for effect and he dabbed at the corners of his eyes with the hanky she offered him. In truth, he doubted that very many people would grieve over the prospect of Azael's death -- himself included. "It was her wish that I marry before she died."  
  
Alania's face became sad. "Oh, you poor dear. Of course you can visit your sister!" She hugged Sen tightly. "It's really against Relandreau's rules, but I'm sure he would make an exception in your case. Will you return in time to prepare your meal?"  
  
"Thank you so very much, ma'am. I promise to be back promptly." The moment the front door closed behind him, Sen hung his head and asked himself, "What am I going to do _now_?"  
  
For reasons he didn't quite understand, he went through with his decision to seek Thad's help. Maybe it was because they'd forged a strong bond of friendship that had pulled them both through various problems over the years, or maybe it was because he supported his obsession with Kilan. Whatever the reason, he listened to Thad's advice as if it had come straight from his mother's mouth.  
  
"You're screwed," was the none-too-optimistic response after his dillemma was explained. "I wouldn't even feed the crap you call food to my worst enemy."  
  
"That's exactly what I told him," Sen groaned and suddenly, without warning, he burst into noisy tears. "But I need to cook _something_! If I'm to ever Bond with him, I need to win him over!"  
  
"Wait a minute!" He was so shocked at what his friend had just said that the tears went unnoticed. "You want to Bond with someone you barely know?"  
  
"You don't understand," he whispered. "We didn't meet by chance, Thad. It was fate and I feel it in my bones."  
  
"But a Bond?" He was, to put it mildly, afraid for his friend. Bonds weren't something you entered into lightly and would be a connection that lasted between the couple even beyond death. Thad sighed when he realized that Sen's mind would not be changed. "Maybe Marna can help you since she's the best cook in the neighborhood."  
  
He shook his head. "I can't let her do anything for me; it wouldn't be right."  
  
"How about a cookbook, then? My mother has tons of those."  
  
"Sure. I can follow directions."  
  
Sen followed Thad to the back of the store where his family lived. The small living room was spotless as always and there were books crammed on every available space. Both of Thad's parents were avid readers and, also, often lent books to friends since they were of the few people in the neighborhood with enough extra money to purchase them. Thad's thick finger traced the spines of several titles before pulling out one called: "Delicious Dishes To Drive Him Wild". Sen's eyes brightened as he considered all the "wild things" he and Kilan could to together.  
  
"Get that lecherous look off your face. You probably don't even know what to do, virgin."  
  
"I can dream, can't I?" he asked, blushing furiously. He admitted only to his best friend that he and his "lovers" had never gone "all the way". His dates had been mostly make-out sessions and grope fests with Sen calling everything to a screeching halt right before he and his gentleman friend went too far.  
  
"What kinds of dishes do _you_ like?" Sen asked while thumbing through the book.  
  
"Anything with meat is good. You can't go wrong with that and it really fills you up." Sen snickered and Thad blushed when he realized what he'd said.  
  
"I had no idea you swung that way. My advances always go unnoticed...." His eyes lit upon a recipe that made him grin. "This is it! I love it!" Sen rushed back to Dreau Manor with a quick, "See ya later!" tossed over his shoulder.  


  
...  
  
Kilan wondered how much more he could take of Chero's obnoxious presence without murdering him. An hour had seemed reasonable in the beginning, but he wondered if he'd been just a little too optimistic. The man was filled with bad jokes about women, about the poor, about anyone who wasn't cut from the same cloth that he was and, frankly, Kilan was starting to see red.  
  
Lord Chero was the very distant relative of the first lord of the Capital, Crenix himself. Though his ancestor had been kind and just, Chero was anything but. His beady little rat eyes glared at anyone who had the nerve to be different than he and his pudgy hand had signed more anti-welfare laws, anti-women laws, and any-homosexual laws than any other ruler combined. It was even rumored that a law demanding all gay and lesbian citizens register with the city was close to being passed by the ruling council. The public listing would make it open season on them.  
  
He, the lord, and his father sat in the lord's pretentious office. Relandreau was Chero's chief aide and also had a seat on the ruling council. Kilan sat on a low sofa near the door and watched the two men talk with growing unease.  
  
"Those nuts on the north side are growing out of control," Chero said to Relandreau with a look of utter distaste on his ugly face. "There's even talk of starting their own community!" One fist came down hard onto the solid wood of his desk. "I will not have the people of Saiya believing that my Crenix is a haven for perverts!"  
  
"Of course not, sir," Relandreau said with an equal amount of disgust. "That would shame not only you, but also every good citizen that lives here."  
  
"What should I do about this without causing a riot?"  
  
Kilan's anger was slowly reaching the boiling point. How could these two men sit here and casually decide the fates of ten percent of Crenix's citizens as if only choosing what pair of shoes to wear for the day? Relandreau smiled slowly and slyly. "A law should do it. We could make it illegial to engage in any homosexual acts or relationships. All those who oppose to death will be put to death.  
  
"I like that," the lord said gleefully. "I knew there was a reason why you were my number one aide!"  
  
Anger exploded within him and sent a rush of scalding heat throughout his body. Kilan had heard enough prejudice and hatred in one hour to last an entire lifetime! Behind him, every hair on his tail lifted and puffed outward like that of an irate feline. "You both dream of a world where everyone was exactly like you, a world that will never be! I don't want to share a planet with people who would punish others simply for being differerent. Saiya is better off without the both of you."  
  
Kilan marched over to the door and yanked it open. "Oh, one last thing!" He glared at the two stunned men with all the venom he could muster in his slight body. "I hope you two rot in Hell!" He made sure that the door slammed loudly on his way out.  
  
His foul mood lasted a long time. As he walked home in the unusually cool air, deep gray storm clouds gathered on the horizon and threatened the city with a cold torrent of summer rain. The people on the street scurried like insects with the hope of reaching home before the heavens released their heavy burden.  
  
"Even after he knows that I'm gay-!" he muttered to himself. "I have to warn Sen and give him enough time to get away. Maybe I can join him later outside the city. I love him too much to see him dead." Kilan froze as the full import of his words hit him. "Love? Did I just say that I love him?"  
  
"Yeah, you did." He looked down to see a little girl about nine whose long hair was in pigtails. She wore a little pale yellow dress and shiny black shoes. Her pixie-like face wore an expression of annoyance. "If you're finished talking to yourself, mister, can you get out of my way?"  
  
"What?" Kilan looked up and realized that he was blocking the entrance of a candy shop. "Oh, sorry," he apologized as he moved aside. Muttering to himself again and forming plans, he hurried down the sidewalk.  
  
"Big people are sure weird," the girl said as she entered the shop. "I don't want to ever become one!"  
  
...  
  


Sen found himself in the Manor's gigantic kitchen after lunch feeling more than a little overwhelmed. The girls around him bustled to-and-fro, intent on their meals. He stared at the recipe and had no idea what majority of it meant.  
  
"I can't let a recipe defeat me!" He squared his shoulders and began rooting around in the cupboards and searching the already-littered counters for ingredients. Soon, there was quite an assortment in front of him.  
  
Once that was complete, he was at at total loss. "How can I follow directions when I don't even understand them? It's like reading a foreign language!"  
  
The girl who'd queried Kilan earlier at breakfast passed him with a large cast iron pot. She strugged to lift it high enough to hang it on the hook in the fireplace and almost overbalanced herself. Sen rushed over just in time to steady her.  
  
"Thanks," she smiled at him shyly. "I appreciate the help."  
  
"Can _you_ help _me_?" he asked hopefully.  
  
"With what?"  
  
His hand beckoned her over to the nearby counter where the cookbook waited. "This was my dearly departed mother's favorite recipe. I'm so used to cooking from memory that I have no idea what these abbreviations mean. Please, can you tell me?"  
  
"Of course. My soup has to simmer for a while anyway. My name's Nari; what's yours?"  
  
"Sennie," he answered. Somehow things were falling into place. For once, luck was on his side. 


	5. Book One: Chapter 5

**Author's Note:** Both the original version (as well as the rewrite) of this chapter also has a lemon scene. Once again, you can find the unedited version on my LiveJournal.  
  
**Chapter 5** [Revision #1: 08/07/04, Revision #2: 08/08/04]  
  
A few of the meals he'd eaten that day gave him the urge to slap the cook. They were, to put it frankly, a crime against good chefs everywhere. Others were absolutely fantastic, decidedly sinful, and thoroughly palatable. They left him craving more and very disappointed because there was no more to be had. He was amazed to discover that, after checking the number attached to the dish against a list of names, one of the good cooks was Sen. After the conversation they had earlier, Kilan had believed that his offering would be better left to dogs.  
  
It would only help his overall score. Not that he was going to choose anyone else, but he needed a good reason for his father. Sen gave him a big smile when he told him he was in the top five and a happy hug. Kilan felt as if he would melt into a puddle of goo on the spot.  
  
"Okay, um..." He backed away, completely embarrassed and unsure of what he had been about to say. He turned to the girls behind the poisonous substances and said, "I'm sorry for all of this. Thanks for trying." A few nodded tearfully before heading upstairs to retrieve their belongings. The remainder had a few spiteful words to say in parting -- some even had a few rude gestures. He rubbed idly at the brusises left by palms and by fists.  
  
Now it was time to address to the finalists. "You should all get some sleep. Tomorrow's a big day."

...

He stirred and slowly awoke, angry at the vanishment of his dream. Senneth had been on his mind a lot lately and Kilan wished that he could have the real thing instead of the fleeting images his mind produced. Sighing deeply, he turned onto his side and attempted to return to sleep -- and blissfully torturous dreams.  
  
Just as he was on the verge of slumber, he felt a gentle pressure on his leg. As quickly as the butterfly-light touch made contact, it retreated as if it had never been. Thinking that maybe his mind was playing tricks on him, Kilan dismissed it as only his imagination.  
  
The feathery touches returned to drift up his legs above the bedcovers, pausing to hover above his midsection as if considering how to proceed. As quickly as they ceased, the movement continued until his chest was reached. Slowly, the light sheet that covered him was drawn down to his knees.  
  
For several agonizingly long moments nothing happened. Kilan lay there, eyes clenched shut and completely exposed, wondering what was going on and silently begging the mysterious person to continue. This was the most human contact he'd felt since childhood. When he felt the touch again, it caused him to stiffen in absolute shock as his tail was gently stroked by soft hands. Kilan's face slackened in bliss and he was unable to stop the deep moan from escaping his body. He thought that nothing could be better than what he was currently experiencing, and was promptly proven wrong when one hand ceased to pleasure his tail to begin pleasuring another certain part of his anatomy where no hand save his own had ever gone before. Electric waves of ecstasy were flowing up and down his spine to quickly be joined by those emanating from another special place.  
  
If this was a dream, he never wanted to wake up.  
  
His underwear disappeared to land somewhere on the other side of the room. The air caressing his flushed body did nothing to cool him down.  
  
All thought fled his mind until all that remained was pleasure. The glorious sensation built slowly until his body was filled to bursting. His world exploded in a series of brightly colored points of light that left him temporarily blind and deaf and on the verge of passing out. When the aftershock tremors subsided, he opened his eyes to see who had given him a gift of such profound proportions and found no one. The need to know who'd made him feel more alive than any other time in his life warred with the need for rest -- losing valiantly. Kilan slipped beneath a sea of lethargy to dream sweet dreams about the boy called Sen.  
  
.=.  


  
"Aw, c'mon! Don't stop there!" Goku whined. "Things were getting really good."  
  
Vegeta cleared his throat and went to the kitchen for a large glass of water. "I'm hoarse, Kakarotto. You can wait until tomorrow. Honestly, you're like an onna watching a soap opera."  
  
His mate was silent for a short while, thinking. When he spoke again his face had acquired a red tint. "He sure knows how to please someone. I thought that Sen was a virgin."  
  
"I do believe that you're blushing," was the comment. "How old are you again?"  
  
"You know that talking about sex-related things usually make me do that."  
  
Vegeta smirked. "I'm guessing he did what felt good to him... with a few modifications, of course. Besides that, how do you know it was him? Some onna could have snuck into his room."  
  
"I just know," Goku responded. "Kilan wouldn't have let it happen if he didn't subconsciously know it was him."  
  
The book was placed onto the table beside the others. "Well, unless you suddenly learn how to read Saiya-jin, you have to wait until tomorrow." After placing a kiss on his mate's lips, Vegeta yawned and went to bed.  
  
Goku grinned in the darkened living room, eyes alight with an idea. He waited until he could feel Vegeta's wild-tinged ki settle down to a steady rate before placing two fingers to his forehead. "'geta's gonna love this," he chuckled to himself before vanishing.  
  
...  


  
Vegeta rolled over in bed and began to stir when he didn't feel another warm body beside him. In fact, the left side was cold as if Goku had never come to bed the night before. The small Saiya-jin's sleepy mind processed this information and thought maybe he'd just gotten up early. There was no reason why Goku wouldn't have wanted to sleep beside him.  
  
He stretched his lean-muscled body and threw off the sheet. While scratching his balls, he pushed himself up to his feet with his other hand... and promptly fell to the floor, his nose making painful collision with the carpet. He groaned and cursed vehemently. "What the fuck is going on?!"  
  
Then he felt it. Something soft brushed against his forehead teasingly, causing him to wonder if he was losing his mind. Vegeta sat up and grabbed the thing hovering before his face and examined it. Looked like his tail; it even felt like it! Taking the brown-furred length in both hands, he stroked it firmly and shuddered when lightning bolts of pleasure surged throughout his entire body. "It's real, all right," he panted. "Never thought I'd see this again."  
  
"Vegeta!" Goku called up the stairs. "Breakfast's ready!"  
  
At the sound of his voice, a slow smile spread across his face. He had an idea how his tail had returned and figured everything would be confirmed when he went downstairs.  
  
Goku grinned as he piled two places high with breakfast food, the front of his body covered by an apron that read: "Warning: it has been declared that kissing the cook is hazardous to your health." Everyone who saw it chuckled and then proceeded to glance over at Vegeta. "Ohayo, 'geta." He kissed him soundly before turning back to the counter. "The coffee will be ready in a minute."  
  
Moving behind the humming Saiya-jin, he zeroed in on his gi-clad butt and the lump at the base of his spine. "Aha!" he crowed. His fingers nimbly untied the sash, grabbed the waistband of Goku's pants, and yanked them down. Through a newly created hole in pale-blue boxers emerged a long brown tail. Goku smiled at him sheepishly.  
  
"I was jealous," he explained simply while returning his pants to their proper place.  
  
After the meal, Goku was quick to run to the living room and open the book. Before Vegeta could take it from him, the other Saiya-jin began to read. "The next morning--"  
  
Vegeta interrupted, one eyebrow raised high at Goku's sudden ability to read the Saiya-jin language. "You were really busy last night. I wonder if there are more surprises waiting for me." Goku grinned and continued.  
  
.=.  


  
The next morning, Kilan awoke happy and refeshed after a very nice dream. He stopped dead in that line of thought. "Maybe that _wasn't_ a dream, after all..."  
  
The covers were quickly pulled off and he checked to see if he was still naked. He wasn't. In fact, there wasn't even the tell-tale stickiness that a wet dream would have left behind. Usually a dream that graphic would have spilled over into the real world.  
  
His mind filled with conflicting thoughts, he quickly bathed and dressed. He had a feeling that he was late to breakfast and that could be potentially painful.  
  
Four out of five finalists greeted him from the dining room table. He wondered were Sen was -- because he had a profound passion for food -- and smirked to himself when the boy stumbled into the room yawning. His hair was shaggier than usual and he was still dressed in pajamas. The false breasts were crooked as if hastily stuffed into place. "Good-" His mouth opened very wide in another jaw-cracking yawn. "-morning."  
  
Nari looked him over carefully. "You appear to have gotten very little sleep last night."  
  
"Yeah... Um, what's for breakfast?"  
  
Kilan constantly glanced over at him as he was pulled into one conversation after the next by the girls. Every time he did so he could swear that Sen had just been doing the same thing. Casually, as the numerous dishes were being cleared away by servants, he said, "I had the strangest dream last night..."  
  
Water threatened to erupt from Sen's nose when Kilan's words reached his ears. He coughed until tears came to his eyes. "Really?" he queried weakly.  
  
"Yes," was the response. Then his voice was lowered as he leaned in closer. "It was a really hot one."  
  
Now Sen was squirming slightly in his chair. His voice quavered slightly as he attempted to remain calm. "Oh. I guess we all have them sometimes."  
  
Voice now barely audible, he began describing in crude detail exactly what he went on in his dream. By this time, Sen had caught on and wasn't the least bit amused.  
  
"How dare you say such disgusting things to me!" the teenager said with excessive loudness in the most offended tone of voice he could muster. Heads turned as he caught the attention of everyone in the room. "I'll have you know that I am, most definitely, _not_ that kind of woman!"  
  
Redness rose in Kilan's cheeks, a color that turned even deeper when he realized that Sen was exacting revenge. He tried to smile charmingly at the girls, but it came out as more of a wince. Thoroughly embarrassed, he quickly moved on to that day's challenge, not missing the sly smile Sen flashed his way.  
  
"You are to find three special things before dinner tonight and bring them back here. Be ready to explain your choices." As everyone filed out of the room, he stopped Sen. "For the record, you were great." He then uncharacteristically grinned and headed off to another day of torture. 


	6. Book One: Chapter 6

**Chapter 6** [Revision #1: 08/07/04, Revision #2: n/a]  
  
"I don't know what to do!" Sen wailed to himself on his way back to his childhood home. It was located in one of the seediest parts of town, literally surrounded on all sides by drug houses, brothels, and other unsavory places. Scruffy heads turned and bloodshot eyes examined his slender form as he strode unafraid down the filthy street. The criminals -- who had the audacity to conduct business in broad daylight -- recognized him. Figuring that he was no trouble, they returned to their transactions.  
  
Number 27 Ucliss Street was a tiny wooden house in sad need of repair. Fallen shingles from the roof littered the brown lawn, mixed in with exterior pain peelings and discarded refuse. He disgustedly walked through the knee-high weeds -- hoping that nothing sinister had decided to make a home in it -- and opened the unlocked front door.  
  
"Who's there?" asked a slurred voice from somewhere in the small house. Senneth ignored it and stepped over the threshold. The smell of old liquor, kriss weed, and several layers of dirt assaulted his nose. Sen nearly took a step back into the reasonably fresh air outside before he caught himself. With determined steps, he strode across the living room and toward his sanctuary.  
  
"I said, 'who's there'!" The harsh voice was louder and coming from the direction of his sister's room. Once again, he pretended not to hear.  
  
Miraculously, his room was exactly as he'd left it two days ago. Clean clothes covered the small single bed, dirty clothes covered the beige-carpeted floor, and his box of treasure was still hidden in the back of his narrow closet. Contained within were the few things of value he'd accumulated over the years. There was a brilliant red blossom -- an eternity flower -- that bloomed only once every century. It was said that it would cause a bond to form if given to someone very special, one so strong that it would last forever. He'd been out exploring as a child on one of the few trips he'd taken outside the city's walls and found it growing all by itself beside a clear spring. And even then his ideal mate had been male in his mind's eye.  
  
The second treasure was a shiny, smooth, iridescent stone found in a riverbed. It, too, was from that wonderfully sad trip. His mother, who hadn't been quite right after his father had been killed over a bad deal with their corrupt government, had grown even worse after that vacation. Synael was perpetually ill and nothing seemed to help her. Eventually she just faded away, dying peacefully in her sleep one cold winter morning. Sen had been nine, his sister fourteen.  
  
Now, at sixteen, he figured that it was better that she had moved on. It would have wounded her deeply to see the neighborhood go straight to Hell. The flower and the pebble were carefully packed away just as the door flew open, doorknob banging against the wall and probably leaving an indentation.  
  
"So you came back," Azael sneered. Her narrowed eyes were bloodshot from smoking her narcotic of choice and he could tell that she was more than a little hung over from the night before. His sister was shorter than he -- and even fragile looking -- but she exuded an air of authority and strength that usually had him cringing. Today, though, he could care less about her.  
  
When he grabbed a large bag and began shoving his remaining possessions into it she began spouting a stream of words designed to get a rise out of him. "You moving out? Did some perverted low-life make you his bitch?"  
  
Soon, the only thing standing between him and freedom was his older sister. Sen gazed down at her, eyes emotionless, and said very carefully, "Please move out of my way."  
  
Azael smiled cruelly. "Make me."  
  
For a moment he didn't move or say a word. His eyes never wavered from her face, never showed even a quick flash of fear. Then a profound amount of pity flooded them even as he bodily moved her aside. "You could have been someone great, Azael. You could have done something real important with your life." He sighed heavily. "I'm so happy Ma isn't here to see this."  
  
Fury contorted her lovely features into a twisted mask of ugliness. She snarled at him, sounding more animal than person, probably envisioning his gruesome death by her small hands. Steps quick, but not at fleeing pace, Sen left his former safe haven and childhood home. Even if things didn't work out with Kilandreau for whatever reason, he knew that he would never again return to Number 27 Ucliss Street.

...

Dinnertime rapidly approached and the only person in the dining room other than Kilan and his parents was a somewhat aloof girl known as Michella. She was beautiful with high cheekbones, full lips, and a curvy figure. Unfortunately for those around her, she fully realized it.  
  
"We should start without them," she said casually, hoping to win by default. "You did say to be back by dinner."  
  
Alania nodded in agreement. "She's right, dear." Relandreau's eyes lit up at the prospect of a very attractive daughter-in-law and adorable grandchildren. Kilan merely nodded stiffly and silently prayed for Sen to hurry back.  
  
Five minutes to six o'clock a servant announced the arrival of Nari and Lika, but no other name passed his lips. Hands sweating and heart pounding, Kilan's thoughts ran around in unceasing circles when Sen still did not show. '_Did he give up? Does he like me? Is he hurt? Is he... dead?_' The second hand on the grandfather clock swept around the numbers at a seemingly blazing pace. 5:59 and 49 seconds... Kilan's heart stopped a few seconds away from 6:00 p.m. He couldn't bear to look anyone in the eye for fear of seeing an entirely inappropriate smugness. Instead, his eyes were glued to the clock face, watching helplessly as those last few seconds counted down. 3, 2, 1...  
  
"Now announcing: Lady Sennie," an elderly man in black said regally. Kilan didn't try to stop the relief from flooding his face and wasn't even sure that he could have. The clock chimed in the new hour solemnly.  
  
Sen nodded to everyone in turn. "I apologize for my near-lateness. I was finishing up with my third item and lost track of time."  
  
"No problem," Kilan was quick to say. "You're here now and that's all that matters."  
  
Michella and Relandreau both were seriously annoyed. Sennie was the only real competition that the pretty young woman had in mere appearance alone. Worse yet, Kilandreau favored her above all others! Michella knew that, in order to move ahead and stay there, her gifts would have to utterly blow him away.  
  
After everyone had eaten as much as they could, the table was cleared and objects placed before their current owners. Numbers were drawn and Sen was to go first.  
  
"Well, um, I've had this rock and this flower since I was a kid." He then proceeded to tell the story of how he'd found them. Alania was smiling with approval and Kilan was completely in love. He shook himself free of the haze and inquired about his third gift.  
  
"I made this," Sen explained. He held up a woven bracelet of blues and greens. It was fastened securely around Kilan's wrist. "It represents our lives and how tightly intertwined I want them to be."  
  
When a completely uncharacteristic look of adoration moved onto Kilan's usually blank face, the other three contestants knew that they'd lost. It didn't matter what gifts they'd brought; nothing could top Sen's.  
  
"Thank you for coming," Alania said with a smile. "I'm sorry that you weren't selected and wish you all the best."  
  
Nari and Lika nodded mutely, but Michella refused to leave without, at least, one final word. "There's something not right about you and I won't rest until everyone knows exactly what it is." Actually, she wasn't sure if anything was abnormal, but the sheer panic in her adversary's eyes made pleasure fill her own. Michella left the room without a backward glance, content to know that worry and doubt would be tormenting Sen for a long time to come.  
  
.=.  


  
"You think she'd cause trouble?" Goku asked before taking a long drink of water.  
  
Vegeta didn't have to really think about it. "She's a scorned woman, Kakarotto. If she doesn't cause it, she'll at least try to."  
  
He frowned fiercely at the book as if trying to convey his disapproval to the mean-spirited young woman. "I want Sen and Kilan to live happily-ever-after. You know something, 'geta?"  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"I think you're sort of like Kilan."  
  
Surprise flooded the small Saiya-jin's face and he began to laugh. "Have you lost your mind? I'm nothing like him!"  
  
"You're both small, your fathers both tried to control you, and you're both head-over-heels in love with males."  
  
Vegeta gave him a bland stare. "You don't know if that last one's true for me."  
  
"You also don't like dealing with emotion."  
  
A look of self-disgust crossed his face. "You're right about that."  
  
Goku marked the page and drew the now morose Saiya-jin closer to him. Vegeta laid his head on his chest and forcefully stopped himself from snuggling into the larger man's embrace. Then, after mentally berating himself, moved in even closer and breathed in the musky scent of his mate.  
  
"For years you've had to turn off everything not related to combat," Goku began. "Nothing was more important to your father -- then Furiza -- than that. You were only six years old when he took you away from your home."  
  
"That doesn't excuse that way I acted once I was old enough to decide for myself," the former prince muttered. "That doesn't explain the way I act now."  
  
A calloused hand made soft with love gently stroked the exposed side of Vegeta's face. "I don't expect you to do a complete 180° overnight. It might take years for you to be comfortable with this -- if ever." The wince those words caused was clearly felt. "You know I'll love you anyway. You could go murder someone in cold blood tomorrow and I'll still love you."  
  
Though he still couldn't speak the intense emotion he felt (and not sure there were even words good enough), Vegeta could definitely show him. A pleasantly surprised Goku allowed him to push him down onto the couch and have his way with his body.  
  
.=.  


  
His mother couldn't stop crying. She straightened and pulled at his stiff formal clothing, making sure that he looked his absolute best, and dabbed at her eyes with a lace handkerchief throughout. Frankly, Kilandreau was mortified. He hoped that she wouldn't embarrass him in public.  
  
He couldn't believe that the day had finally come when he would be joined with Sen. Granted, he didn't know very much about him, and was deceiving everyone by going through a ceremony with someone they had no idea even existed, but there was no way he would allow such things to ruin his day.  
  
All night, servants had been cleaning and preparing for the ceremony to be held later that afternoon, with the watchful eyes of Alania never missing a single thing.  
  
Having no real friends, Kilan didn't invite anyone to the ceremony. The odd thing about it was that the backyard was packed anyway. He assumed that his mother and father had invited their friends as well as important people who'd expressed a wish to be present. It annoyed him a little to see the faces of so many strangers but there wasn't much he could do about it.  
  
For the entire day so far, his father had been conspicuously absent. Kilan was half afraid that he was plotting something to ruin his special day. The other half of him was positively overjoyed not to have to deal with him.  
  
His mother, having gone briefly to check on "Sennie", now knocked softly on his bedroom door. "Kilandreau? It's time." He took a deep breath and descended the stairs.  
  
A wide aisle carpeted in deep red ran from the back door to the altar by the flowered hedges. Rows of white chairs sat on both sides and were nearly filled to capacity. Kilan stood on the right side of the altar, convulsively swallowing and trembling slightly. Those were the only outward signs that he was nervous.  
  
From the house emerged a tall, burly man with short-cropped hair. His powerfully built form was squeezed into a formal black and silver tunic that did little to flatter him. The young man didn't look like someone his parents would associate with and he definitely couldn't identify him. By process of elimination he knew that the uncomfortable guest had been invited by his beloved.  
  
Music began to flow softly throughout the garden from hidden musicians, signaling the start of the ceremony. The last few stragglers took the remaining empty chairs and then his formerly missing father made an appearance. The older man sat beside his still-weeping mate and stared ahead at the shikar.  
  
As the music raised in volume, Sen stepped forward from behind the edging hedges and slowly made his way to the altar.  
  
Breath caught as the beautiful boy passed by the guests. He wore a long white gown edged in milky white beads. The modest V-shaped neckline was trimmed in the same adornment. His hair, made tame by some miraculous method, was curled artistically and pinned by white-beaded clips. A huge grin spread across his face. It marred the angelic appearance just a little, but no one seemed to care very much. Sen turned his infectious smile toward Kilan and almost caused him to grin unabashedly back.  
  
"Please clasp hands," the shikar intoned once the slow-paced music had ceased. They did so and electric shocks coursed through their bodies from the contact. "We are here today to join Kilandreau and Sennie for all eternity. Few enter this sacred bond lightly for it binds two people together tighter than anything else in the world." He paused in significant silence. "If there are any here who think that these two should not be joined, speak now or forever hold your peace."  
  
Sen held his breath. When no one said a word, the knot in his stomach eased. The shikar opened his mouth to finish the ceremony and a loud drunken voice interrupted him.  
  
"Oh, you got yourself into some serious shit this time," the feminine voice shouted gleefully. "I can't believe they let you near their son, let-alone stand by and watch you bind yourself to him!" Sen didn't have to see the woman to know who she was. His greatest fear was realized when Azael stumbled down the aisle toward him.  
  
"Why did you come?" he asked. "To humiliate me?"  
  
She smirked and took a quick swig from the bottle clutched in her right hand. "They don't know the truth, do they? I heard you were really careful to hide it from them."  
  
He knew, he absolutely knew, that his sister was going to ruin everything. It was exactly her kind of thing. Sen didn't bother trying to stop her -- for what good would it do? Silently he stood before everyone, his head held high, refusing to be shamed by something that didn't embarrass him in the slightest.  
  
"This girl, the one you find so charming and pretty, is nothing more than a perverted, cross-dressing, effeminate boy."  
  
There was a collective gasp. Most looked at Sen for confirmation and he gave a single nod. Then the very same look was directed Kilan's way. His response was short and to the point. "I knew."  
  
Many things happened at once. Alania let out a hoarse cry and fainted, the guests all began to talk loudly amongst themselves, and Relandreau rose from his chair with an enraged look on his face that would have caused even Lord Chero to run away screaming. His father stalked toward him and said very gruffly, "Come with me."  
  
Kilan's eyes immediately went to Sen's face. The younger boy smiled and told him to go ahead. "I'll be back no matter what," Kilan promised.  
  
"I know," was the reply. 


	7. Book One: Chapter 7

**Chapter 7** [Revision #1: 08/08/04, Revision #2: n/a]  
  
He expected his father to hit him in the face as soon as he got him alone. Surprisingly enough, Relandreau only wanted to speak with him. "I don't care how you feel about that boy-" He spat this out harshly. "-and I could care less if he loves you, or if you love him. The only thing that matters to me is the reputation of this family and having an heir to keep it alive."  
  
Kilan stared at him. "What do you mean?"  
  
Smirking, his father began walking towards the door of his study. "Think about it. I'm sure you're intelligent enough to figure it out."  
  
As the door closed, a thought struck the young man. Would his father do something drastic?  
  
Was the sky blue? "SHIT!"  
  
Heart pounding, he literally ran from the room and back outside. Most of the guests were still on the grounds; some chatting, others apparently bored. The unfamiliar man he'd seen before was looking very worried and distraught.  
  
"You're Sen's friend?" he asked him so suddenly that the other was startled.  
  
He nodded. "Y-yeah. I'm Thad." His eyes once again moved to the house. "What's going to happen to him?"  
  
"What?!" Kilan grabbed him tightly by his upper arms. "What are you talking about?!"  
  
"Some men took him somewhere after you left. I don't like the way they looked when they did it. I would have gone along, but he made me promise to stay behind and tell you what happened."  
  
Thoughts ran through his head at top speed. Did they hurt him? "Do me a big favor."  
  
"Anything."  
  
"Run upstairs and get our things. My room's at the very top and Sen's is at the end of the second floor hallway -- on the left from the stairs. Everything's already packed. If you need help talk to Krea." He pleaded with his eyes. "Keep everything safe until we can come for it."  
  
Thad nodded. "I will. Both of you stay safe."  
  
Fury unlike any he'd ever felt before filled his body with white-hot fire. Trained and schooled almost from birth, Kilan's natural emotional responses had been suppressed. As a result of not being able to express how he truly felt, years of anger toward his father built up. Now it was seeking a place to go, a way to escape, and would not be denied any longer.  
  
"This is the last time that ignorant, overbearing asshole is going to ruin my life!" He growled deep in his throat, tail curling protectively around his narrow waist as his body naturally prepared itself for battle. A completely new feeling of adrenalin rushed through him, causing him to believe that he could handle anyone and anything. Saiya-jin instinct uncoiled within him like a great dragon, well-rested and ravenously hungry. All thought was focused on Relandreau, all urges desiring the same thing. The shadow of Death loomed over the unsuspecting man and doggedly stalked his every move.  
  
A dark, vicious look spread over his once-blank face. Those who saw it during the search for the Lord of the Manor felt icy chills run through their bodies and sweat trickle down their spines. "That is the face of the Devil," some whispered. "No," said others. "That is the very face of Death itself."

.=.

Vegeta stopped reading here, unable to continue. Too many times before had he experienced the very same thing Kilan was going through. The former prince had been unable to tame the beast that raged within -- maybe he hadn't wanted to! -- and many things had happened that were later regretted. Involuntary tears squeezed past his closely guarded defenses as he remembered the past, his hands coming up to cover his shame.  
  
Knowing what he was going through (and maybe even understanding a little), Goku spoke with the intent of easing his pain. "You aren't the evil person you proclaim to be. In fact, you never were." He kneeled before his mate and forcibly pried his hands away. Red-rimmed onyx eyes stared down into his own. "I could never love someone like that."  
  
"But I--"  
  
"No 'buts'! You aren't 'Vegeta: Murderer of Innocents' any longer. That was _never_ the true you. _My_ Vegeta is caring, thoughtful, loving..." He suddenly smiled. "And, of course, sexy as hell." The weak laugh he'd drawn forth eased the tension mounting in his body.  
  
Vegeta wrapped his arms around Goku's neck in an impromptu, heartfelt hug. Through it he conveyed untold amounts of silent emotion, praying to gods he wasn't sure he believed in for the strength to say how he felt aloud.  
  
"What of Kilandreau?" he asked softly. He feared for the young man's soul. Murder placed such a heavy burden on it, one that was never completely eased. He felt the facial muscles in his mate's face shift beneath his neck as he smiled.  
  
"He'll be fine. I believe in the power of Sen's love. Besides, I understand people like you two."  
  
One eyebrow rose upward. "Oh, really?" he murmured. "I might just hold you to that."  
  
.=.  


  
Relandreau sat in the living room, conversing unconcernedly with several acquaintances. Eyes narrowed, Kilan approached him with the appearance of being very calm. "Where is he?"  
  
He was ignored blatantly by all present. The internal maelstrom raged stronger. "I asked you where Sen was!"  
  
His hands grabbed fistfuls of shirt material and forcefully pulled Relandreau to his feet. At first, the older man was only severely angry but the smoldering fire in his son's eyes slightly unnerved him. "It's too late, boy," he said coolly. "He's probably dead by now."  
  
The flames grew hotter. "What did you say?"  
  
A smile touched his lips. "I had him killed for corrupting you. No one nearly ruins this family and gets away with it."  
  
Kilan shook him until Relandreau could swear his brain was rattling around inside his skull. Fitting payment for what he'd done to the young man before. "I'm only asking this one more time. Where is Sen?"  
  
"I had him taken to Southgate."  
  
He tossed the man aside like a rag doll. "You better hope he's okay. There are many fates worse than death, you know." The formerly passive young man left the room as silently as he'd entered, this time a deep red aura accompanying him.  
  


...  
  
Sen's emotions rapidly shifted between sadness for Kilan and anger at Azael. If only she'd shown up five minutes later! After Kilan had gone off with his father, a group of men surrounded him. They looked to be the sort of people commonly found in his old neighborhood: self-proclaimed 'badasses' with the muscle to back it up. He refused to look afraid.  
  
"What's up?" he asked casually.  
  
The one in front of him wearing a tight black shirt said, "Come with us." He appeared to be completely serious.  
  
Sen looked into each of the three guys' faces. The one who'd spoken to him and the one behind weren't going to budge. But the one on his left, the youngest of the three, looked promising. Beneath this feigned tough-guy exterior was a nervous, reluctant teenager. "Why should I?" he asked. "I don't know you and you don't know me."  
  
The expressionless face of Black-Shirt morphed into a smirk right at the moment Sen's arms were twisted painfully behind his back. "For some strange reason you thought you had a choice." Sen's mouth opened to protest and fire lanced throughout his body from his shoulders. Knowing that his chances of surviving this encounter would lessen the more he antagonized his abductors, the boy decided to keep his mouth shut.  
  
They tossed him like a sack of potatoes onto the back of a cart, restrained him like a criminal, and covered his begowned body with a hot, itchy, foul-smelling horse blanket. The long ride through the city was bumpy and very uncomfortable. The feeling was fleeing his arms and legs while his eyes burned from the sweat that dripped into them. Overall he felt worse than any other time in his life, including those moments his sister had hit him with whatever was handy.  
  
Eventually the cart's movement ceased. For one scary moment he thought that the guys had abandoned him in the lonesome darkness, but then the blanket was being pulled away and bright sunlight sliced into his eyes. Sen groaned and automatically tried to cover his face, but that only served to create fresh pain his body.  
  
Black-Shirt threw him over his shoulder and carried him deeper into the filthy alleyway. Rats scattered as their hidey-holes were disturbed, squeaking indignantly at the intruders. Sen was thrown down onto an old packing crate, the weak wood splintering upon impact with his body. He groaned aloud again, no longer able to hold in his reaction to the pain, and wished. Wished that he wasn't weak, wished that he had a chance to escape, and wished that Kilan would come to rescue him.  
  
"You don't have to do this," Sen said desperately. "I didn't hurt anyone!"  
  
"This has nothing to do with you," he informed him. "Lord Relandreau's paying us top sizu to off you." He gripped the delicate fabric of the dress tightly and lifted him into the air. The blow came quickly and without warning. The older man's fist caught him in the nose, breaking it instantly and forcing a spray of blood to drip onto his clothes and those of his captors. The intense pain nearly caused him to black out but it was nothing compared to what he felt as more fists joined in. Blows landed on his chest, his stomach, and any place that didn't already bear the discoloration of a bruise or broken bone. Throughout it all Senneth never begged for them to cease, never giving them the satisfaction of seeing him cry. When he'd retreated deep within himself mentally, where nothing hurt or mattered, he faintly heard a voice ask them to stop. It was one he'd never heard before and Sen figured that it belonged to the third guy.  
  
"We shouldn't be hurting him like this! Why should we murder for someone else?"  
  
"Ethics don't have a place in this! Nothing is more important than money."  
  
A new voice interrupted the argument. "How about your lives?"  
  
All three men spun around to face the owner of those words. Who they saw failed to frighten them. Small, slender Kilandreau stood at the entrance to the alley, mouth frowning and eyes promising pain. The one who'd spoken up in Sen's defense backed away with his hands raised upward.  
  
"I didn't do nothing," he said hurriedly. When the other Saiya-jin never glanced his way, he took it as the go-ahead to run.  
  
The two remaining thugs allowed Sen to fall to the ground before facing Kilan. Knuckles were cracked and necks were popped as they readied themselves for battle. Kilan crouched low to the ground and allowed the innate power of a Saiya-jin to fill him completely.  
  
Both sides attacked in unison. The thugs moved in from both sides, throwing kicks and punches to test his defenses. Kilan gamely kept up, knowing that the fighting skill he'd acquired as a child and as a teen, combined with the raw power of his rage, would be enough to defeat them. It had to be.  
  
Suddenly he turned the tables and went on the offensive. Carefully placed punches and kicks found heads and abdomens, leaving behind painful bruises that would hurt for days -- if they lived. Not expecting him to be so powerful, the thugs hadn't fought at their full strength and were now at a disadvantage. Moaning in pain, and cursing fate, they tried to run away.  
  
But Kilandreau would not let them.  
  
Soon, the only sounds in the alley were the disturbing sounds of flesh striking flesh and the small, involuntary whimpers the two young men made.  
  
Sometime during the proceedings, Sen had regained consciousness to a pain that stole his breath away. For long moments he lay there simply breathing in and out, trying to master the blinding pain that washed over his body. Through the red haze of torment that clouded his mind, he swore he could hear his beloved's familiar voice. It was rough with emotion, and saying things completely out of character, but deep down he knew that it was him.  
  
'_Open your eyes,_' he ordered himself. '_Open them!_'  
  
The alley slowly came into focus. He could just barely see two unmoving forms on the ground... and a small figure above them. Someone carrying a lantern went past the alleyway and Sen could see the silhouette of the attacker's body. Several distinctive hair spikes extended upward to the sky, ones that Sen would be able to identify anywhere.  
  
"Kilan," he whispered. "It is you!"  
  
The small young man kicked the nearest inert body savagely. "Do you like how this feels?! Do you want more?!" The only response was a deep groan.  
  
In shock at his behavior, Sen pushed himself upward into a sitting position. His ribs and shoulders protested the movement and screamed at him to return to his previous position. He ignored them and called out to Kilan instead.  
  
"Don't kill them!" he said weakly. "You're better than that!"  
  
Senneth's voice, though made soft by agony, carried over the cries of the victims to Kilan's ears. The small Saiya-jin looked over at him and swiftly abandoned his revenge to go to Sen's side. "Look at what they've done to you!"  
  
Tears brimmed in Sen's eyes and slowly cascaded down his cheeks. "It doesn't matter, Ki. They didn't kill me and that counts for something, doesn't it?" He tried to suppress a groan when Kilan pulled him into a hug and wasn't at all successful.  
  
"I'm sorry," he apologized quickly. "We need to find a healer. Can you stand?"  
  
With Kilan's help he was brought full upright, but nearly collapsed again when he tried to put weight on his right leg. "Damn," he hissed from between clenched teeth. "One of 'em broke it."  
  
At his words, the fires of Hell sprang back into Kilan's eyes. Sen stared at him until they died. "I really have to learn how to control that," he muttered.  
  
"Well, I'll be here to help you," Sen assured him. He tried to take a few hopping steps and immediately regretted it. Something moved inside of him, something that really shouldn't have. "Okay, you'll have to carry me." He sank backward against the nearest building, panting.  
  
It was awkward going (Sen had almost a foot of height on his almost mate) but they eventually made it to the place Sen directed: Thad's family's store. When he was carried over the threshold, the teenager giggled to himself despite his discomfort.  
  
"What's so funny?" There was simply nothing at all humorous about what happened that night, in his opinion. The confused look on his face made Sen laugh even harder and clutch his abdomen when the movement did strange things to his broken ribs.  
  
Thad took one look at his friend and ran to get Malora. The elderly woman patched him up expertly, all the while clucking over every single injury. When he was resting, Kilan suddenly said, "We can't stay."  
  
Sen knew exactly what he meant. "Nope, we can't. As soon as I'm healed enough to walk, we're gonna leave." 


End file.
